The next day was horrible.

Kate had as little contact with me as possible.

How could I blame her?

I'd walked out.

I hadn't gone to bed.

She wasn't herself with the kids; her smile was forced and it never really reached her eyes. She wasn't 'all in' with them like she usually was. It was as though there was a little wall between them.

At least they didn't notice the difference.

It occurred to me that we were going to have to find a way to explain to Amanda that she wasn't going to have that little sister.

Brian had apparently told her to take a couple of days off, and it appeared she'd had the sense to listen.

He and I got along all right, and I'd allowed him as far into our lives as I had because it was clear he had Kate's best interests at heart. And he loved the kids. He'd stop by to drop off three tons of paper for Kate and end up spending a half hour on the living room floor being an evil ogre Amanda would have to slay. He was Kate's age and had the energy for it, so I'd just let him go with it. And it took some of the pressure off of me - not having to be the only 'horse' in Amanda's stable. Believe me, she was quite the equestrian. One day I'd gone to pick them up from Mom's and walked in on Sully being a horsie for her. I wish I'd had a camera. I'm not above blackmail.

Anyway, I'm pretty certain this is where I screwed things up again: I didn't know what to do so I did nothing.

I had a situation I couldn't control. I wasn't sure what to do to make things right, so I just tried not to do anything to make it worse.

I could tell she was fragile and I didn't want to do anything to upset her, so I tried to deal with the whole thing inwardly instead of talking to her about it.

I thought I was doing her a favor because she didn't need anything else to worry about. It didn't occur to me until later on that it might have appeared to be emotional abandonment. But, again, she liked to work through things on her own. How was I supposed to know that this time she couldn't?

I'd steered clear of her yet tried to do what I could to help at the same time, and had gotten the 'get out of my way' glare more than once, so I sat back on the couch and tried to focus on the tv and let her do her thing.

At one point Kate came over, drying her hands on a dishtowel and said,"Your father called again. He wants to see the kids."

"No."

We'd had this conversation before.

"Okay." She shrugged. "But he is their grandfather." She said that every time.

"He's nothing." I said that every time.

"I just think - "

"Enough, Kate. It's not going to work. Why do you think he calls you?"

"Because he thinks I can change your mind," she admitted.

"He said that?"

"No. It's just what I think."

"You're exactly right. Don't even let him think you're on his side in this."

"Why do there have to be sides?" she lamented. This wasn't like her. Usually by this time she'd conceded that I was right and the man had no place in our lives. She knew what he was.

This was new. This was unreadable.

I hadn't had to try to 'read' Kate in years… it was what it was...

That day… it wasn't.

When she'd finally done all the things she does with Amanda and Mikey, she gave them a rather late lunch and tucked them in for their naps. I'd assumed we could have a chance to talk, but I could tell she was feeling restless and probably needed some space.

When she came back to the living room I said "Go on," and tossed my keys at her.

She watched them hit her in the abdomen and fall to the floor.

"I don't feel like it," she shrugged, scooping up the keys and shooting them back to me with a little more velocity than necessary.

"You need to." I said, tossing them back.

She glared at me as she let the keys hit her yet again, and fall to the floor.

"I said I don't feel like it." She picked them up and pitched them at the wall just to the left of my head. She'd thrown them so hard they'd stuck in the wall for a good three second before dropping to the floor. I was thankful she was accurate. Then it occurred to me she may not have been. Maybe they had been meant for my face.

"Geez, Kate," How the hell was I supposed to respond to that?

Turns out I didn't have to because she turned and left, locking herself in the bathroom running the tub for a hot bath. No doubt it was by design that she emerged mere minutes before I was supposed to leave for work, wrapped in a fluffy robe, hair tucked up under a towel, face scrubbed clean.

She couldn't scrub away the sadness.

"Are you going to be all right?"

"I'm fine," she said and gave me a tepid, sisterly kiss on the cheek.

"Make sure you call Ma if you need anything."

"I'm fine."

After Maurice left, I dropped to the couch and lay on my back and just stared at the ceiling for a long, long time.

Thinking.

About where I was, where I'd been, where I was going.

And it seemed to me that all I'd been doing for so very long was just maintaining the status quo. Not moving forward, not moving back - just being stagnant. Being ineffective.

Sure, I was raising two children, which had been wonderful but suddenly didn't feel like enough.

Apparently enough children, not enough accomplishments.

What exactly had I accomplished in the last few years?

Not much.

Nothing earth-shaking, perhaps not even anything that could help a person or change a life.

Here I was, sending Maurice off every night to save the world, and I wasn't even making a difference in it.

Not even at the womens' shelter.

I went, I volunteered, but I didn't really invest myself.

It occurred to me that I was pretty much defined by my family. My identity was swallowed up by them.

As a matter of fact, just the previous week I'd made a joke about legally changing my name to 'Amanda's Mom', because that's how I was widely known. "Oh, you're Amanda's mom!", as though I just happened to be tagging along with the little force of nature that she was...

Even at work.

I could have had the editor's job Brian got if I'd wanted it badly enough. If I'd been willing to sacrifice time with family for work. Maurice would have supported it, if he thought it was something I really wanted.

But the role of 'mom' was more important to me than Pulitzer Prize winning journalism.

Mom.

All my thoughts seemed to bring me back to Susanne. I wouldn't let myself cry anymore. I'd cried enough.

And suddenly, unbidden, I felt relief that I wasn't going to have to juggle a newborn and two other children. And that slight sense of relief was followed by a guilt so intense I got myself dressed and started making cupcakes, preparing a fun post-nap activity and scrubbing the kitchen from top to bottom all at the same time.

When I came home it was nearly one and, again, I wasn't sure what to expect.

Turns out Kate, still fully dressed, was curled on the couch asleep. Probably emotionally exhausted.

I peeled the bed covers back then came back out, pulling her shoes off and dropping them, then carried her to bed and tucked her in. She barely moved. When I went to the kitchen for a beer I saw why. It was spotless. The cupboards had been polished, counters and sink cleaned, the floor was gleaming and slippery, and she'd cleaned the inside of the fridge. There were even some yellow cupcakes with chocolate frosting.

Those go great with beer.

Some art project in progress was spread over the counter in the corner.

I went in to check on the kids, and Mikey was lying perfectly still, quietly awake, gazing out the window at the full moon. He squealed a little when he saw me, so I picked him up and brought him out to the living room to keep me company for a while, hoping that something distracting was on tv. After a while, he dozed again and I put him back to bed.

My pillow was on the couch and I honestly couldn't remember if I'd left it there all day, or if she'd put it there deliberately. I just assumed neither of us had put it back on the bed. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep, so I just lay on the couch with the tv on, thinking about the irony... here we were, just like our first night together: she's out cold, I put her to bed and spend the night on the couch. Only this time the separation hurt. I could have gone to bed, but I was pretty sure she didn't want me there.

And I just didn't want to find out for certain.

I awoke to a light clatter coming from the kitchen. Nothing noisy, just comforting. I could smell coffee and hear Amanda saying "Nooo-wah!" and "Stop-ah!"

She added an extra syllable to things sometimes when she was annoyed.

Kate had covered me with a blanket and I burrowed under it for another five minutes before the smell of coffee was too much to resist. I ran my hands through my hair to be sure Amanda couldn't comment on what she called my 'Scary Hair' (which had once actually scared her), and shuffled out to the kitchen.

"Ma."

"Hi, sleepyhead. It's nearly 11."

"It was a late one. And I couldn't sleep. What are you doing here? Where's Kate?"

"She went to work."

"The hell she did!"

"Shh!" Mom scolded, nodding toward the kids, who were coloring at the table, Mikey in that little high chair attached to the table.

"Hell!" he crowed. Mom gave me a look that said 'See?'

Amanda looked at me, chin raised mischievously, ready to repeat the word. I stopped her with a look and pointed at her.

"We don't say those words. You don't say those words." I clarified. "If you do you lose all things Disney for a week."

"Does that mean coloring books, too?" Amanda asked, while Mikey gnawed on a red crayon, which I dropped into the trash. Early teeth, early walking, early words. He'd even been born early. We could attribute the early walking and talking to Amanda and her constant attention. She couldn't let him be - she was on him all the time, teaching colors and shapes and talking constantly. Believe it or not, she'd already started reading lessons. He was barely a year and a half.

"Everything."

She thought about that for a minute and then silently went back to the page in front of her. Mikey eyed the green crayon hungrily, drooling little chunks of red wax.

"Ma, he can't color. He can't really hold the crayons." I wiped his face with my hand, and rinsed it all off in the sink.

She gave me a defiant look and gestured toward an absolute mess of color she'd attached to the fridge with tape.

"Looks like vomit." I observed.

She gave me an affronted look. "It's his first masterpiece. And Amanda drew a unicorn." On pink paper right next to Mikey's 'masterpiece'.

I looked at Amanda. "What, no tiara?"

"Over the horn?" she squinted at me skeptically.

"Right. I was thinking Pegasus."

"Pegasus has wings." she told me reproachfully.

"Gotcha."

"Please," Mom begged, "please have a cup of coffee. Quickly."

I poured a cup and sat at the table watching the kids color, slowly waking up.

"So she went to work? Did they call her in?"

"No, she called me last night and asked me if I wouldn't mind."

"Last night."

"Last night." She confirmed.

"She didn't say they called her in? Maybe an emergency?" Believe it or not, there were publication emergencies. Nothing I'd lose sleep over, but Kate had a crazy sense of responsibility when it came to these things.

"No. Just got the impression she was eager to get back to work. Maybe to keep her mind off of things."

I was an idiot. I'd pretty much left Kate to call Mom and tell her what had happened. I should have done that myself.

Maybe she just went back early to avoid me.

"Don't you think it's a little too soon?" Somehow I made it sound like a complaint rather than a question.

"Don't you think she knows what she's capable of?"

"You like her better, don't you?"

She just laughed, covered my hand with her own and whispered, ever aware of the kids, "I'm so sorry."

She was letting me off the hook about it.

"I should have called you myself." I acknowledged glumly.